


Elementary

by Cicironi



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, i didn't write down the entire dream just this one part but now i can't really remember, i thought 'what the hell' and decided to publish it, i was just going through my files and i found this, oh well, reader - Freeform, this is just a dream i had two years ago and decided to write down, you don't have to like it i just decided to publish it bc why tf not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicironi/pseuds/Cicironi
Summary: After just losing half her family and almost her brother, the murders don't end... With a new monster in play, the Reader's terrors are quickly cut by your friendly neighborhood Avengers.





	Elementary

The first small explosion. The second. Neither compare to the bomb the set off no more than ten seconds after. I knew it would be the instant death of us, of anyone in a mile radius, but I had to try to get away. I had to try. Who would ever come to bombing an elementary school in  a neighborhood full of festivities?

Of course it was a white man in a baggie black sweatshirt, pulled over his bald head, and a pair of large grey sweatpants that hung below his hips.

Everything went by so quickly.

I escape my house where the murders took place. I get in the car with my mom, grandma, and thought-to-be-dead eleven year old brother. We drive down the small street to leave the neighborhood. Dance teams from the high school perform their intense choreography in the streets. Food stands set up in the parking lot. People of all age dance in unison to the music playing in front of the elementary school. The younger ones pay close attention to the fourth graders as they cheer in their pink and purple uniforms. We start to close into the street. A man shows up but no one pays mind to him. He throws the first bomb, next to the cheerleaders. No one’s hurt, but people scream. Then the second one. Slightly larger, towards the food stands. Three dead, eight injured. Someone rear-ends us. I get out of the car with my family and something catches my eye. I look up. On the very front corner of the school building is a large box, flashing. Another bomb. The man runs to the middle of the main road, and cackles. He presses something on a remote and speeds away on his motorcycle a few feet away. The light flashes faster. It’s about to go. I run down the main road and try to make it to the fire station, I’d be safe there. My family is far ahead of me but I have to try. I have to.

Boom.

I’m sent flying into the air. Not flying- soaring, the adrenaline hasn’t hit me yet. In all under a minute, does this happen. So fast. Too fast.

Why am I not dead?

I should be dead. I wasn’t even thirty feet away.

The blast would of killed anyone in an instant, and I’m one of the few not dead. Instead, I’m impossibly high up in the air. I can’t be this high up, can I? You could stack three of the now blown up elementary schools on top of each other and I’d _still_ be taller than that.

None of this make sense.

No one seemed to care about the murders. Some random man blew up an elementary school. I was feet away and I didn’t die. I’m impossibly high up in the air. I’m not scared. I feel the air, the wind. I feel my body flipping and turning as I continue to rocket through the air. I feel the stillness. I feel gravity wrap itself around my limbs and pull me down. I close my eyes. My mind thinks of nothing, except the ironic _Free Fallin_ by John Mayer.

 _This is it_ , my mind whispers, _the end. The end of your fourteen year old, miserable life. Say something. Anything. No one has to hear you._

I open my eyes and look at the ground, rushing to meet me. “I love you…” I say softly. I’ve always wanted those words to be my last. Those three simple words could be the rise or destruction of a person, or a nation. Those three simple words contain so much meaning, but no one would never understand why; no matter how I’ve been wronged, even in situations like now, I could never hate. Only love. What is the point of hate? All it brings is suffering and anger, all for what? Because someone talked about me behind my back? Because I’ve been stripped of my pride and humiliated in front of everyone around? Because I’ve watched my family be brutally murdered? If I already suffer, why bring more of it? I could live in hatred all my life and constantly feel the fiery pit of indescribable anger and despair shake throughout my core, or I could let it go and heal over time. Nothing good ever comes from hatred.

Nothing.

Memories of my past flood through my mind: the good, the bad, the forgotten. They always said your life would flash before your eyes before you pass, but I never expected it to be like this: time slowed as every impacting event, big or small, sucked me in. Seconds before my death, I have my first birthday. Say my first words. Take my first step. Have my second birthday. Feel real pain for the first time when my head breaks open. Got hit the first time. Got thrown the first time. Bruised my ribs for the first time. Third birthday. Made my first real friend. Got a brother. Got a dog, the best family I have. Got jumped for the first time. Fourth birthday. More pain, more first experiences. Fifth birthday. First day of school. First taste of freedom and security. First time learning the correct term for my homelife: abusive. Sixth birthday. Lost that friend, my mom fought hers. Seventh birthday. Eighth birthday. Ninth. Each one passes by with everything that keeps me up at night, the things I see on old camera footage, the things I sporadically remember in the shower.. I relive my life before it’s due to end.

Five seconds. I close my eyes.

Four seconds. I open my arms.

Three. I brace for impact

Two. Darkness.

______________________________________________________________________________

Two.

Two.

Air escapes my lungs as I feel my ribs start to crush under something metal. I wheeze and open my eyes in pain: all I see is red. Pressure is released from my torso and I squirm around, in hopes for any new sight. The fences, the houses, the fields I have lived by half of my life flashes by in a blur; without warning, all forces I’ve been tied to release me as I’m laid onto the ground. Despite going through what I just have, curiosity pulls my attention towards whoever, or whatever, saved me. When I meet my target, I see it, I acknowledge it, but my mind does not allow me to believe the impossible: before me, flying into an oncoming battle, is Iron Man. There’s no way it’s actually him, my mind is just trying to cope with the trauma I’ve experienced. But I look around: Clint and Natasha prance between tall brick walls, shooting their guns and bow; the Hulk storms around, thrashing and throwing anything that comes his way; Thor flies onto whatever’s left of the school building and uses his hammer; and Captain America runs in from my right, advancing on the enemy. However, the “enemy” was not here mere seconds ago.

What is the enemy, anyway?

I drag myself into a sitting position and try to process everything that’s happened; I replay the events over and over in my head, but all I can realize is the crimson fluid pouring itself from the side of my head and right shoulder. My gaze turns forwards and stare blankly: colorful shapes fighting against a giant bluish blob. Squinting, the blue blob takes the shape of a godzilla-looking creature with four extra arms and blue scales; its mouth opens and hundreds of skinny, blue men on some sort of hover board zip out. I try to focus, but with more smashing from hulk and laser-looking things coming from Iron Man's hands, I lose focus and everything looks likes blobs again. What’s the difference between them? They’re all colors, such nice colors…But the ground, the soft soil, it looks so cozy. So nice. _I’m so cold, I just want a blanket…_ I slowly lean back and feel the earth give me a giant hug. Grass has never felt so pleasant…


End file.
